


Regrets of the Extinction

by tap_rat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tap_rat/pseuds/tap_rat
Summary: Statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding his regrets.  Original statement given March 14, 2020.  Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, March 23, 2015.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

"Statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding his regrets. Original statement given March 14, 2020. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, March 23, 2015. Statement begins."

"Of course I knew it would lead to the Extinction, I'm not stupid. Bringing all the Fears in at once, to feed upon humanity as a whole, unfettered, unrestrained? Of course it would be the end of all that was. But I thought that was inevitable anyway, just a matter of time. I thought, if it was going to happen anyway -- better for it to happen on my terms.

"If I could harness it, channel it properly, I thought I could at least ensure that the world that emerged after the chaos would be one that I could live in. Could control.

"But I neglected to take into account the true nature of the Fears themselves. I... suppose, in the end, I got caught up in the same trite dogma as everybody else. Just like all those fools searching for meaning and direction and _intent_ in what they called their _gods_. I ascribed human motivations -- or at least motivations _understandable_ from a human perspective -- to a distinctly inhuman existence.

"I expected the Fears to... care, I suppose. About existing. About continuing to exist. But they didn't. Anymore than a fire cares about preserving the forest it consumes so that it can continue to burn a little longer.

"What does fear care about its own existence. It's a mindless _force_. It isn't a _god_. But I'm afraid even I fell into that fallacy. I should have known better.

"What came after, I thought, I assumed, in caring about its own existence at least vaguely in the way humanity had, would simply replace them in the chain of existence as the new thing to be preyed upon, the unchained Fears themselves the new ultimate predators. And I as the one who had brought all this into existence would reign supreme and _safe_ , untouchable, the lynchpin at the center, the arch stone holding it all up. But what came after was not born from the world of humanity, it was born from the Fears themselves gaining a foothold into this world, pushing through and making it their own. Once the bulk of humanity had died out, the old source of their food simply... withering away in pure, paralyzing terror where they weren't consumed directly, most of them too frightened to even leave their homes if they lived that long, huge swathes of them choosing to kill themselves rather than fall to what waited outside their doors...

"Well, after that, things just started... falling apart. Where I had expected a new order to form, a new world born from the ashes of the old... instead there was nothing. Things just started going quiet. Weak. The power of the Fears started to fade away, and though their Avatars, like me, were panicking about it, the Fears themselves... simply didn't care. This wasn't them returning to the outside of the world, returning to the way things were before. This was an _end_. This was the Fears themselves dying because _there was nothing to feed them_.

"And they didn't care. At all.

"That was when I realized my mistake. I wasn't the lynchpin of the new world. As the Avatar of the Extinction, I would only ever be _exactly that_. And once my job was fully, truly, finally done... I too, would join everything else that I had rendered extinct. There would be... nothing else, after. I had destroyed it all. Including myself."

"Statement ends."

Jon stared steadily at the pale, somewhat shaky man sitting behind the desk. Elias Bouchard stared back, eyes wide, pupils blown and fixed as he breathed a bit too quickly.

It took a minute or so before he could work his dry mouth into forming words.

"Well," Elias said, his voice raspy. "That was... unexpected."

-

"Ah, thank you Martin," Jon said absently as he took the mug of tea, eyes still on the stack of statements he was flipping through. His voice was... different. Softer. Kinder. A little tired sounding.

Martin stalled, unsure of what to do with this.

Without quite meaning to, he heard his own voice say almost reluctantly, "Are you... alright?"

Jon blinked up at him after a pause, still strangely mild where Martin had fully expected him to snap back after such an assumption.

"I'm quite alright Martin, just a small time-traveling mishap. Nothing to worry about." He said this with a perfectly serious, kind, tired, small, gentle smile on face, that Martin had never seen anything of the like on him.

Martin stared. "I'm... I'm sorry?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you _serious_? He _said_ that?"

"Yes! I know! I don't know what to make of it either!"

"Are you sure he wasn't just having you on or..?"

" _Jon_?"

"...Yeah, not really his style."

"Hah, I'll say. I don't think he's said a joke in the entire time I've known him. _Ever_."

"But then what does it _mean_?"

"...I dunno, maybe he needs a... visit to hospital or something? Got hit on the head maybe?"

"Too much time on spooky statements, went to his head and screwed him up."

"Oh come on Tim, I'm serious."

"I am too! What else could it be, honestly. He's lost his marbles down here, it was only a matter of time with how tight-wound he always is, I'm pretty sure."

"Tim, this could actually be something serious."

"Thank you Sasha -- what do you mean, serious?"

"Well, think about it. Jon has _never_ made this sort of joke before, and you said yourself that his personality was completely different, right?"

"Yeah, yeah it was."

"...Shit."

"Tim?"

"Tim, what are you doing?"

"Er, nothing, don't worry about -- I've just got some -- I've got to check out some things, that's all. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Tim, where are you going -- do you know something? Tim! Sasha?"

"I'm not letting him out there on his own. He clearly knows something, and I'm going to follow him."

"...Crap. Yes, alright, I'm coming. Will you _wait_ a minute!"

"Sorry Martin, try to keep up!"

"Ugh!"

-

In his cluttered London flat, the Archivist's lips twitched into a smile as he breathed in the steam from his fresh cup of tea. He watched from his cozy curl on his over-stuffed couch as his Assistants burst into his office at the Institute, sipping with calm amusement as they exclaimed in confusion and frustration at his absence. He watched as Tim, movements forceful and just a bit panicked, began ransacking the place over the protests of his coworkers. It was a much neater office than it would one day have become, though, and there just wasn't all that much there yet.

It took very little time for Tim to find the neat stack of statements in the desk drawer, an equally neatly penned letter laying on top. All three Assistants huddled around the opened drawer after Tim had frozen upon seeing it addressed to them. The Archivist watched the expressions play across their faces, the blood slowly, slowly draining as each of them hit the little nuggets of proof that he had left nestled in the letter just for them. Then, after a minute, it was Sasha that reached in and pulled out the statements. She was always the brave one.

The Archivist tried to give them some privacy as they gradually read the statements over the next few hours, the occasional outburst and ranting panic simmering down as they slumped back down into the extra chairs that the office hadn't had yesterday to continue reading. They usually stopped to tell the others when they found a note that he had added in the margins, but they all read each of the statements in turn. They went through quite a bit of tea.

By the time they were finished, exhausted and worn thin from what they had learned, they felt like the working day should have long since finished, like they had been there for ages. But in reality, the Institute was still quite full, at least two hours left and bustling at the higher floors. None of the three felt like doing anything more, though, after mindlessly staring at nothing for a good long while. They left for their individual homes without saying a word to anybody, the Archivist keeping a watchful eye on their progress to make sure they made it there safely.

He looked forward to the next day at work.


End file.
